This is the story of a chair. It's not just any chair, it's a special chair. No, it won't fly us around the room, it won't grant us wishes, and it won't run errands or do chores for us, no matter how nicely we ask. But if it won't do any of that, then how is it special? Well, this chair is a time machine of sorts. The chair I'm speaking of is Wendy's great grandfather's rectory chair.

As children of families with deep heritage and histories, we both know stories and have knowledge of our lineage. Neither of us are from any sort of famous, powerful, or particularly wealthy families, and both of our families represent an eclectic mix of hard working individuals. The various sides of our families' roots in the United States were established anywhere from the industrial revolution to the Revolutionary War, all depending on the branch of our respective trees. But no matter the situation, each of our families came here with little, in hopes of providing more for their loved ones. For this very reason, antiques, keepsakes, and heirloom pieces passed from generation to generation are rare and treasured.

As a young girl, Wendy remembers this old, dirty, and wobbly chair sitting in her parents' basement. As the story goes, this chair once sat in a church rectory, and somehow ended up in her great grandfather's possession. Dark and splintered wood, worn with age and use, faded and torn fabric seat, and tattered burlap seat straps did little to tell the story of the possibly rich history the chair possesses. Instead, its current condition acted as more of a footnote to its largely unknown legend.

As a child, Wendy was unaware of the chair's eventual meaning to her. She always knew it was her great grandfather's chair, but figured it was a lost cause from a furniture or seating standpoint and was only being held onto for some sentimental purposes.